Today my poem is an offering for the Sunday Whirl #675 and today’s 3TC #M849. As the season calls for it, I welcomed the mystic magical tones to help me put this fantasy together. I remembered my late teenage and university years when autumn would push my friends and me to telling horror stories and pretending we participated in summoning rituals. I’m glad none of us actually had the nerve to complete any of those because we would get really frightened just before the rite would yield its result. So, we never saw any proof of the otherworldly. I’m glad, oh yes, I am. Right now, I’m also greatly amused. Ah, youth! Priceless and heart-warming.
So, Shall We Call The Cleaner In, Please?
Do we expect the woods to be silent,
Or our coffee brought by a waiter in deference
as the yellow leaves whirl?
Should a siren answer our call?
Or a maid take care of all?
Can we fly around the garden short for breath,
and read the mystic signs of runes set in stone?
Let’s do a circle dance where we expect
at least a magical metamorphosis.
Then, please, let’s call the cleaner in.
© 2024, soulmary
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Thanks for the inclusion!
Poor cleaners! They get the rough end of the job!